2018年7月23日纽约时报：我迷上了日本四国岛的“荒凉”稻草人村庄

The scarecrow master of Shikoku, Japan

我迷上了日本四国岛的“荒凉”稻草人村庄

I had set out to explore the heart of Shikoku, the smallest and least visited of Japan’s four main islands, and was white-knuckledly navigating my rental car along a one-lane road through a mountain valley toward a storied vine bridge. I drove through a seemingly deserted village of a dozen homes perched precariously on metal stilts over a river, turned a corner and saw in the distance three figures slumped against an electricity pole.

我出发探索四国岛的心脏地带，这是日本四个主要岛屿中面积最小、游客最少的一个。我小心翼翼地驾驶着租来的汽车沿着一条单行道行驶，穿过山谷后驶向一座传奇的葛藤桥。途中经过一个看似荒凉的村庄，那里有十几户人家，房子摇摇欲坠地建在河上的金属支架上方。拐个弯，可以看见远处有三个人影靠在一根电线杆上。

They were dressed in rubber boots, rough-spun farmers’ trousers and windbreakers, and wore white gloves on their hands. Baseball caps covered their heads. Yet something was odd in their postures. They didn’t seem quite human. As I got closer, I realised they weren’t human. Their faces were made of white cloth, plump and pillowy, with buttons for eyes and black yarn for eyebrows.

他们穿着胶靴、粗制的农民裤和风衣，戴着白手套，头顶棒球帽，姿势有些奇怪，看起来不太像人。走近一看，我发现他们根本不是人。这些假人的脸是用白布做成的，丰满圆润似枕头，纽扣作眼睛，黑纱扮眉毛。

Five metres further on, I saw another of these human-sized figures pushing a wheelbarrow in a field, then another pulling weeds, then five of them sitting on a bench at a bus stop.

再往前走五米，我看见另一个真人大小的人偶推着一辆独轮手推车走在田地里，接着是一个推着拔草车的人偶，还看到五个人偶坐在公交站台的长椅上。

I was wondering what alternate reality I had wandered into when I spied another figure on the side of the road ahead. This one was also remarkably lifelike, dressed in black sneakers, trousers and a grey smock, her hands gloved and her head hidden under a bonnet. I turned my eyes back to the road, then abruptly stopped. That figure had taken a step! And another!

当看到在前面路边还有另一个人偶时，我不禁纳闷自己到底闯入了怎样的一个世界。但这个假人同样栩栩如生，身着黑色的运动鞋、裤子和灰色的罩衫，戴着手套，头藏在一顶软帽子下。我把目光转回马路，然后突然愣住了，因为那个人影走了一步又一步！

I pulled up and walked warily towards the bonneted figure, not quite sure who or what I was about to encounter.

把车停了下来后，我小心翼翼地朝那个骨瘦如柴的身影走去，不知道将会遇到什么。

“Excuse me!” I called. The figure seemed not to hear. “Excuse me!” I yelled, much louder.

"请问！"，我叫道，那人影似乎没有听见。"请问！"，这次我大声呼喊。

The figure stopped and slowly turned.

那个身影停了下来，慢慢地转过身。

A human face appeared – warm, flesh-coloured, lined and benign, with tiny, sparkling eyes. “Yes?” a woman’s voice replied in Japanese.

一张温暖红润的人脸出现在我眼前，脸上已有皱纹，但面容十分和善，一双小眼睛闪闪发光。"有什么事吗？"，这个女人用日语回答我。

“Excuse me, but may I ask you a question?”

"不好意思，我可以问你一个问题吗？"

“Yes, of course.”

"当然，问吧。"

I walked forward, sweeping my arm towards the figures on both sides of the road. “Do you know who has created these wonderful creatures?”

我向前走去，指着路两边的人偶，"你知道是谁创造了这些奇妙的东西吗？"

She looked at me intently for a moment, then broke into a smile. “I did!”

她聚精会神地看了我一会儿，然后笑了起来，"我做的！"

That was how I met Ayano Tsukimi, the scarecrow master of Shikoku. The year was 2013, and I was venturing into the virtually impenetrable green folds of the Iya Valley, a remote region in the north-eastern part of the island where paved roads had been introduced only half a century before.

我就这样认识了四国稻草人大师月见绫野（Ayano Tsukimi）。2013年，我冒险进入了几乎与世隔绝的深山幽谷——祖谷溪。该溪谷位于四国岛东北部的偏远地区，半个世纪前才有道路与外界相通。

My wife was born and raised on Shikoku, and I had heard about the Iya Valley from my brother-in-law, who had said that it was a rugged place of thatch-roofed farmhouses, barley fields, vine bridges and traditional ways – but he had not mentioned anything about human-like figures.

我的妻子在四国岛上出生长大，我从妹夫口中听说过祖谷溪。他说那里地势崎岖，有大麦田、葛藤桥和古道，农舍都是茅草屋顶——但他没有提到任何形似人类的东西。

Ayano-san burst into laughter at the wonder in my eyes.

绫野女士看见了我眼中的惊愕，大笑起来。

“May I ask you about these?” I said.

"我可以问些关于稻草人的问题吗？"，我说。

“Of course!” she said. “Would you like some tea?”

"当然！"她说，"要喝点茶吗？"

We wandered past two small boys – well, boy-like figures – playing on a rusting bicycle, and a woman sitting in a work shed with her back to the road. Ayano-san led me up a driveway to her simple house. Seated beside the path to her door were half a dozen more figures: a girl in school uniform; a mother with a baby in her lap; an elderly gentleman in a business suit holding a cigarette.

我们走过两个小男孩身旁（好吧，像男孩子一样），他们在生锈的自行车上玩耍。一个女人正坐在工作棚里，背对着马路。绫野女士带我走上一条车道，来到她那简朴的房子。在通往她家门口的小路旁边，还有好几个稻草人——一个穿校服的女孩；一位抱着婴儿的母亲；一位上了年纪的绅士身着西装手里拿着香烟。

I took off my shoes and stepped into a tatami-matted room crammed with more of her creations, including a couple dressed in traditional wedding kimonos, standing formally at the end of the room. I felt like a character in an episode of The Twilight Zone.

我脱下鞋子，走进一间榻榻米房间，房里摆满了她的创作，其中包括一对穿着传统和服的新婚夫妇。他们端正地站在房间的尽头，我觉得自己简直成了电影《暮光之城》中的一个角色。

Ayano-san bade me sit on the tatami mats beside her traditional irori hearth, then left to make tea. She returned with a small lacquer tray bearing two cups, and placed one carefully before me.

绫野女士安排我坐在传统地炉旁的榻榻米上后便去泡茶。她托着一个装有两个杯子的小漆盘回来，小心翼翼地把其中一个杯子放在我面前。

I bowed and said thank you, and she looked at me, eyes twinkling. “They’re rather unusual, aren’t they?”

我鞠躬说了声谢谢。她看着我，眼中闪烁着光芒，"它们很与众不同，对吧？"

“Yes, they truly are. Please tell me about them.”

"是的，确实很特别。能给我讲讲这些稻草人吗？"

“Well,” she began. “I grew up here but left to go to Osaka with my parents when I was in secondary school. I stayed there, got married and had children. At one point my parents moved back here and then, when my mother passed away, I came back to care of my father. That was in 2002.

"好。"她开始说道，"我在这儿长大，中学时和父母一起去了大阪，在那儿结婚生子。后来，我的父母回到家乡。2002年，母亲去世后我回来照顾父亲。"

“I made the first kakashi…”

"我做的第一个'卡卡西'......"

I stopped her. “I’m sorry, but what was that word?”

我打断了她，"不好意思，你说的那个词是什么意思？"

“Kakashi. The figures farmers use to scare away birds from their crops.”

"卡卡西，农民们用这些像人一样的东西驱赶鸟儿，不让它们吃庄稼。"

“Ah, kakashi!” Scarecrows.

"噢！卡卡西！"即稻草人。

“I made the first kakashi to scare away the birds. I noticed that they were eating the seeds in that field out there” – she pointed outside her doorway – “and so I wanted to shoo them away.”

她指着门外说："我第一次做卡卡西是为了吓跑鸟儿。因为当时我发现有鸟儿正在吃外面那块地里的种子，所以我要把它们赶走。"

“I made a few more for that purpose. Then when our neighbour up the road passed away, I missed her – I used to talk with her every day. So I made a scarecrow that looked like her, so that I could continue to greet her every morning.

"出于这个目的，我又做了一些。后来，邻居去世了，我很想念她，因为以前每天都和她聊天，于是我照她的样子做了一个稻草人，这样我每天早上还能和她打招呼。"

“Over time,” she said, with a shrug and a sigh, “more and more of the villagers passed away. I began to make scarecrows to remember them and in a way to keep them alive.”

"时光易逝，"，她耸了耸肩，叹了口气，"越来越多的村民去世。我开始做稻草人来纪念他们，让他们永远活在我们心中。"

She paused. I sipped my tea and watched. For a moment, a cloud passed over her face, shadowing the sun of her smile. Then it evaporated, and she pointed to a figure seated on the tatami behind me, a wise-looking woman with braided grey hair made of thick yarn, clad in an elegant grey kimono. “That’s my mother,” she said. “I still talk to her every day. Would you like to take a walk?”

她停顿了一下。我呷了一口茶，静静地看着她。一会儿，一片乌云遮住了她的脸，微笑失去了阳光的照耀，然后一切又烟消云散。她指着坐在我身后榻榻米上的一个人偶——一个看上去很睿智的女人，用粗纱编织的灰白头发，穿着优雅的灰色和服。"那是我妈妈，"她说，"我每天都和她聊天。你想去散散步吗？"

We wandered a few minutes down the road to an imposing two-storey concrete building behind a dirt playground. “This used to be the elementary school,” she said. “But over the years, the students became fewer and fewer until finally, last year, they closed the school. Now all the students in this area go to a school 30 minutes away by bus.”

我们在马路上闲逛了几分钟，来到泥地操场后面一座雄伟的两层混凝土建筑前。"这里曾经是小学，"，她说，"但这些年来，学生越来越少。到去年，他们终于关闭了学校。现在这个地区的所有学生都得坐30分钟公共汽车去上学。"

There was no regret in her voice; she was simply stating the facts. “Come inside!” she said, opening the door into the school.

她的声音里没有遗憾，仅仅是在陈述事实。"进来吧。"她打开学校的门说。

As we walked, I could hardly believe my eyes. Scarecrows were everywhere. A scarecrow principal supervised the hallway, scarecrow teachers gathered in a teachers’ lounge, and in a schoolroom, 20 scarecrow children were seated obediently at their desks, textbooks open, earnestly looking at the scarecrow teacher at the front of the room. On the blackboard behind her was written, ‘My future dream’ – the Japanese equivalent of ‘What I want to be when I grow up’.

走进学校后，我简直不敢相信自己的眼睛。到处都见到稻草人。一个稻草人校长监督着走廊，稻草人老师聚集在教师休息室内。在一间教室里，20个稻草人孩子乖乖地坐在课桌前，打开课本，认真地看着教室前面的稻草人老师。老师身后的黑板上写着日语——"我的未来梦想"，也就是我们说的"长大后想做什么"。

By the time we finished our tour, the sun was lowering. I needed to get back to my hotel before dark, so I said a hasty thank you and promised that I would return.

结束旅行时，太阳正要落山。我要在天黑前赶回到酒店，所以匆匆地对绫野女士说了声谢谢，并保证还会回来。

Driving back along the winding road, I was filled with deeply mixed feelings. On the one hand, there was something undeniably unsettling about the figures, especially the schoolchildren, who seemed like characters in a horror film about to leap into life. But on the other hand, there was a warmth to Ayano-san’s character and a poignancy to her story that took seed in my soul.

我沿着蜿蜒的道路开车回酒店，内心五味杂陈。一方面，不可否认的是，这些稻草人令人不安，尤其是那些稻草人小学生们，看起来就像是恐怖电影中的人物，随时会动起来吓你一跳。但另一方面，绫野女士内心充满温情，她的故事令人心酸，在我的心灵中播下了种子。

A year later, on a sunny spring day, I returned. This time I was leading a group of eight Americans to the vine bridge, and when we reached Nagoro, the scarecrow village, I asked our minivan driver to pull off the road. Ayano-san was standing in front of her house.

一年后，在一个阳光明媚的春日，我回来了。这一次，我带领八名美国人一同前往葛藤桥，到达稻草人的名顷村时，我让小货车司机把车开离公路。绫野女士正站在她的房子前面。

I leapt out. “Hello, Ayano-san!” I called out, waving.

我跳下车，"你好，绫野女士！"，我挥着手大声喊道。

She peered at me, puzzled. Then she looked more closely. “Ah, welcome back!” she said. And she invited us into her home to introduce her creations.

她疑惑地看着我，然后走近看了看。"啊，欢迎回来！"她说。随后便邀请我们到她家参观她的作品。

For a year, I had been wondering how she made these figures. Finally, I had the chance to ask.

一年来，我一直在想她是如何做出这些稻草人的，现在终于有机会问她了。

It takes about three days to make one kakashi, Ayano-san explained. She begins with the face, taking a square patch of white, stretchy, jersey-type cloth and wrapping it around the kind of batting used to stuff quilts. After sewing the back, she stuffs in more batting to form the nose, sews on buttons for the eyes and shapes the lips by deftly pinching and sewing the cloth. She takes special care with the ears, Ayano-san said, tucking and sewing the cloth so that the ears have individualised creases. “I want to make sure my kakashi can hear well,” she explained with a smile.

绫野女士解释说，制作一个稻草人要花大约三天的时间。她从脸开始，拿一块白色有弹性的方形运动衫布，裹在用来填充被子的棉絮上。缝上人脸的背面后，她在鼻子的地方塞了更多的棉絮，再缝上钮扣作眼睛，熟练地捏型缝补来塑造嘴唇。她造耳朵时特别小心，绫野女士说，得把布缝起来让耳朵有像人一样的皱褶。她笑着解释说，"我要保证我的稻草人能听到声音。"，

For the arms and legs, she wraps wire around rolled-up newspapers, using more newspaper to stuff the torso. When the body is complete, she dresses it in clothing – from scarves to elaborate kimonos – that has been brought or sent to her by fans from throughout Japan. She then places the figure in the location she has envisioned, utilising the wire’s flexibility to arrange the arms and legs.

她用金属丝缠绕卷起的报纸当作手臂和腿，再塞更多的报纸填充躯干。当身体完成后，就给它们穿上衣服，从颈巾到精心制作的和服或是她买的或是日本各地的粉丝送给她的。最后，就可以把稻草人放在预想的位置，利用电线的柔韧性来摆弄手臂和双腿。

When she finished her explanation, we all burst into applause. Her smile filled the room.

她讲完后，我们爆发出一阵掌声。她的微笑感染了房间里的所有人。

I have returned to Nagoro every spring since then, and in the intervening years, as other foreigners have made their way here too, Ayano-san has become something of a celebrity. A German film-maker posted a short documentary about her in 2014, and a dozen articles have been written about her (many of which, sadly in this age of copycat journalism, mistakenly state that her father has passed away – news that was quite a shock to her father, who was pottering energetically away in the yard on my most recent visit this May).

从那时起，我每年春天都会回到名顷村。在这期间，也有其他外国人来访，绫野女士已经在某种程度上成为了名人。2014年，一位德国电影制作人发表一部关于绫野女士和她的稻草人的短纪录片，介绍关于她的文章也有十几篇。(但遗憾的是，在这个网络假新闻盛行的时代，竟然误传绫野女士的父亲已逝世，她的父亲对此感到震惊。在我今年5月最近一次拜访时，他正在院子里精神饱满地闲逛。）

Accounts by other writers often use ‘creepy’ or similar words to describe her creations, but as I have been drawn back every year, my understanding has ripened.

其他作家经常用"毛骨悚然"或其他类似的词语描述她的作品，但由于每年我都会回到名倾村，我对绫野女士作品的理解很深入。

Nagoro’s story is not unique. Every year it’s played out in hundreds of villages around Japan. Children growing up in these remote areas, dealing with the demanding conditions of rural life, are seduced by the allure of big cities – conveniences, jobs, entertainment – and leave their hometowns, never to return.

名顷村的故事并非独一无二，每年日本的数百个村庄上演着同样的故事。在这些偏远地区长大的孩子们，面对着农村生活的艰苦，很难不受到大城市的诱惑。大城市生活方便，就业容易，还有丰富的娱乐，因此他们离开家乡，永远不再回来。

The dilemma is common, but Ayano-san’s response has been pure, wholehearted and unique. A few times a week she gathers cloth, batting, newspaper, wire and clothing, and begins to craft a figure who represents a cherished grandmother or grandfather who has passed away, or a child who moved to the city, or even a visitor who has left a mark on her heart.

这种两难处境比比皆是，但绫野女士却用如此单纯、全心全意且独一无二的方式作出回应。她每周都会收集几次布料、棉絮、报纸、电线和衣服，然后开始塑造人物：去世的祖母或祖父、搬到城里的孩子、甚至可能是一位在她心中留下印记的访客。

She has chosen to repopulate her village with these eminently un-scary scarecrows, and she fills them with art and soul and loving memory.

她选择用这些并不可怕的稻草人重新充实凋零的村庄，每个稻草人都饱含她的艺术才华、心灵和爱的记忆。

In this, she symbolises Shikoku itself, a stunningly beautiful but largely ignored and impoverished island whose residents meet the challenges of daily life with a deeply ingrained resourcefulness and resilience. Every day on Shikoku, farmers plant and harvest rice, mikan oranges, shiitake mushrooms, wheat, tomatoes and other crops, as they have for centuries; every day, fishermen motor out before dawn and return each afternoon with nets silver-shimmering with yellowtail, sea bream and bonito.

在这一点上，她象征着四国本身，一个美丽得令人惊叹、但总被忽视的贫穷岛屿。岛上的居民用骨子里的智慧和韧性迎接日常生活的挑战。在四国岛上，农民们每天种植和收获大米、蜜柑、香菇、小麦、西红柿和其他农作物，几百年来一直如此。每天，渔民们天没亮就出海打渔，下午带着闪闪发光的网回来，网里装着黄狮鱼、海鲷和鲣鱼。

And in the island’s best-known tradition, Buddhist pilgrims from near and far walk a sacred circuit of 88 temples, honouring the founder of Japanese Shingon Buddhism, Kobo Daishi. As they walk, they are welcomed by the locals with smiles, bows and gifts of rice, oranges and biscuits to help them on their journey.

这个岛上最著名的传统是来自四面八方的佛教信众按沿着既定路线巡游朝拜88座寺院。这些座寺院是纪念日本佛教真言宗的创始人空海大师。当地人会微笑鞠躬并赠送大米、橘子和饼干等礼物来迎接行走在朝圣路上的信众。

In her own way, I have come to realise, Ayano-san too is offering gifts to help us all on our life’s journey.

我渐渐意识到，绫野女士也在用她自己的方式向我们赠送礼物，在我们人生的旅途中提供帮助。

On my May visit to Nagoro, I met another resident of the village and asked her what she thought about the scarecrows.

5月份去名顷村的时候，我遇到了村里的另一位居民，问她对稻草人有什么看法。

“At first they were a little disturbing,” she said, “for us just as for visitors. But I’ve come to like them and find comfort in them. I recognise people who have passed away and it’s nice to have them still here.”

她说："刚开始的时候，我们本地人和游客一样觉得它们看起来有点吓人，但现在我已经很喜欢稻草人，从中找到人生的慰藉。我能认出一些已经去世的人，很高兴他们还在这里。

On that visit, Ayano-san again invited me and my fellow travellers into her home. I asked her how many scarecrows she had made since 2002. “I think about 450,” she said. “Every three years or so, I have to replace them. Now there are 27 people living in the village – and 200 scarecrows!” She laughed.

在这次名顷村之行，绫野女士再次邀请我和我的旅伴们到她家做客。我问她自2002年以来她做了多少稻草人。她说："我想大概有450个，因为每隔三年左右，我就得更换一遍。现在村里有27个居民和200个稻草人！"

One of the members of our group asked if, once her father passed away, she would move back to Osaka.

我们小组的一个成员问她，一旦父亲去世，她是否会搬回大阪。

There was a long silence and she seemed lost in thought, gazing into the distance.

她久久未开口，凝视着远方，似乎陷入了沉思。

Finally she spoke. “I don’t think so,” she said. She looked out at the fields, the bus stop, the woodshed, the one-lane road, all of them enlivened by her creations. “I’m quite content here. I’m among my friends.

她终于开口说话，"我不会回大阪"，她望着外面的田野、汽车站、木棚、单车道公路，所有的一切都因她的创作充满生气。她说："在这儿生活我很满足，到处都是我的朋友。"

“And look!” She turned back to us, her eyes sparkling, her face crinkling into a bright smile. “They are bringing new friends to my village, too!”

"看！"，她回头对我们说，眼睛闪闪发光，脸上洋溢着笑容。"他们也把新朋友带到了我的村庄！"。